Cell
by 1492163
Summary: One shot, follows end of Glass Sword: A frigid cell, and an unexpected visit from a broken prince.


**Cell**

 **It's been a very long time since I wrote any fanfiction, but then I read these books and I felt a little bit 16 again and had to get this out.**

The high window in the cell that shows me the passing of time would seem a kindness but I know it is there for cruelty. He wishes me to know how many days of chaos pass outside while I can do nothing to stop it, nothing to protect anyone.

The sliver of dark sky tells me it is deepest night. I can see one star, and I stare at it from my position on the freezing floor. It is silent, the stones take care of that. I lie on my side, my back to my bars, my knees drawn to my chest. Comfort is not possible, my still-present gilded collar biting into my neck, the cold from the floor leeching into my bones. My stained white shift provides nothing but a canvas for my blood.

I am weak without the rest I so desperately need, having refused food and water for two days now. I am trying to starve myself. It did not take me long to decide to end my life the only way I can. It is probably because a part of me realises he will never let me go that easily, the same awful part of me that doesn't want to let go of the world beyond the bars.

I look at the star and think of Cal's fire. I think of his flames in battle, unstoppable, immense. Above all I think of the fire in his eyes as the jet plummeted to earth and he said goodbye without words. A dry sob escapes my throat. My need for him is visceral, painful. As always, Cal's precious, comforting image in my thoughts is soon replaced by Maven's cruel face. He is angles and shadows, enraged, looking down on me as I kneel in front of him. Did Cal see? I am sure that Maven broadcasted that moment for all to see. He conquered me. I am a new symbol of his might, his fury, the futility of resistance.

I long for sleep but a body so numb can only take rest a few seconds before the trembling, the ache wakes me and reminds me where I have landed. Tighter I curl into myself, running my calloused hands over my legs. I long for the feeling of sparks, the hum of electricity but there is nothing but the cold and the silence and me.

Perhaps I will go insane. This I am sure Maven would allow. Nothing would make him feel more powerful than being the cause of my total breakdown. Until then, a part of him will always fear me. I know this, I have seen it. I just wish I fully understood it.

Weakened as I am, I am suddenly acutely aware that someone is watching me. A guard, I think. I know they are here, somewhere in this new prison, my prison, but so far even they have been kept from me so I can know how truly alone I am.

Inhale, exhale.

Is that my breathing or their breathing?

I do not turn. I want to believe that this is stubbornness, strength, but I am very weak and to turn would cause pain in many wounds. It must be nearly dawn, perhaps I am being fetched for another exhibition or for torture, interrogation. A new pain I will be forced to endure until I am sure I will die, but I do not.

I wait, the awful possibilities make bile rise in my throat. I signed up for this. Kilorn's life, Cal's life – a fair trade.

Inhale, exhale.

Perhaps they will leave.

Finally, a voice.

"Mare."

Maven.

I freeze.

His utterance was soft, just above a whisper. I can barely breathe. Maybe I am dreaming. I will not turn. All my senses are screaming. 

He does not speak again for what feels like an age.

"Mare, please."

Please?

The word echoes in my head. I do not comprehend.

"Look at me."

I am dreaming. There is no other explanation. Yet I can't be, I feel the stones beneath me and around me, the cold. I see the star.

I turn. My body obeys even as my mind screams to stay. I sit up as best I can. Being simultaneously compliant and defiant is not easy, but I manage it. The sight of him disarms me completely however. His crown is gone, his wavy black hair tousled. I see in the low light the shadows, his hollow cheek bones. He is wearing sleeping garments, silken black trousers - yet nothing on top despite the fangs of cold. He is lithe and pale. Luminous.

My heart skips a beat and I want to vomit from the shame of my reaction to this monster. What is this? Something is utterly wrong. He is alone as far as I can see. I am being tested somehow. I will not bend. 

Maven cast a small flame in his hand, and even though he is not close I feel it, the little warmth. I steal a direct glance and see his eyes are wild and wet with tears. Sweat is standing out on his forehead.

"This is a trick." I croak.

His flame flickers out, bright blue at its last and he breathes hard. I am transfixed. I have run over many awful scenarios in my head in the last days… but not this, never this.

I watch as his hands ball into fists and he presses them hard into his eyes. Slowly, as though invisible hands are pushing him down he slides to his knees, and presses his forehead against the bars.

What horrific new deception is this? I shake as his blue eyes fix on me. Right now they are not his mother's; they belong once more to the boy I knew. The lie I knew.

It looks as though he is trying to speak but he can't. He gives a tiny sob, a bereft, chilling noise. I want to turn away, but I can't. Especially as he slides one arm through the bars, along the floor towards me. This will surely mean he is affected by the silent stone but he does not withdraw. I am out of reach, backing as far away as I can. This is horror, a nightmare. Torture as only Maven knows. His mother told him every corner of my mind, my dreams.

I cannot speak and though it looks as though he wants to he cannot.

Finally he chokes out my name again. "Mare- please." He looked as though he is fighting something, some invisible, painful battle inside. Maven squeezes his eyes shut again, clutching his head, falling to his side. His hand still reaches for me.

I want more than anything to turn away, for him to disappear and still I cannot speak.

"Help me."

I quake. This cannot be happening.

Tears run down his face. He is sweating. I remind myself that Maven is a master of deception. An actor. A liar.

"She's still in my head." It was barely more than a whisper. No trace of the sharpness usually imbedded in every syllable. "Sh-she's dead but she's still-"

A pause.

"Please." A cry, his fingers extend.

Like I was possessed by the girl I once was, who was constantly comforted and accepted by a phantom version of him I slid forward and mirrored the way he was lying, taking his hand in my weak grasp. Most of my being expects pain - to be burned, choked but I am only gripped tightly. I have not forgotten anything but I am drawn to him as though he still physically holds my leash.

His eyes draw me in. There is terror, madness – and warmth? I am only seeing what he wants me to see. I know this, I know it.

With my touch he seemed to grow more lucid. "Since I was born, her voice in my head. Sometimes I was clear, I could escape. I wanted to be who she made me for you. I wanted to be the prince you could love. More than anything."

Who he was. The one I miss every day. The one I love. No, loved. He has abused me to the point where I lost all sense of place and time and murdered in my name. And yet I don't want to believe that this broken boy before me slaughters infants. I cannot believe it.

He breathes hard and every bit of resolve, every solid piece left inside of me burns away.

He speaks again, eyes imploring me. "I cannot fight it."

Finally I speak, and my voice is stronger, steadier than I expect. "You can."

We stayed like that for a long while, weighing and measuring each other with our eyes wide open. My heart thuds in my chest, for the boy I knew who I want to believe is here with me. I ache to reach through the bars and touch his bare chest to feel if his beats the same. His heart which I believe to be black.

"Mare." It seems he wants to taste my name said softly, again and again. "I'm so sorry."

He trembles violently and uncouples our hands so he can run one hand down my face, down, down until he brushes his long fingers over the jewelled collar at my throat. His eyes seemed to shutter then, darken.

He grips my arm, tight, painful. A strong, urgent voice issues out of him. "You must kill me."

He withdraws, stands quickly. I cannot keep up. I cannot stand up, weak and injured. I want to stop him.

"Maven!"

His face was hard again, eyes cold. He turned his back on me.

"Let me out!"

I am yelling at his bare back, retreating. Shoulders squared but still heaving.

I keep yelling and beating at the bars with bruised fingers, broken nails. I call his name, sobbing until long after he is gone.

Then I lie, back where I began. My star is gone, and cold dawn light has replaced it. The pale blue strip I can see is the colour of Maven's eyes. His mother's eyes.

It was a trick.

New torture. Worse than anything else before, thought up to destroy any resolve and sanity I had left. It can't possibly change anything. There is blood on his hands that nothing can remove.

I repeat it. It was a trick.

A lie.

A trick.

Over and over.

I sleep.

The next day, I eat.


End file.
